


the needs of the flesh

by dreadwulf



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 05:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreadwulf/pseuds/dreadwulf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short piece about Sebastian struggling to keep his vows in the face of certain... urges. Sebastian solo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the needs of the flesh

Sebastian awoke gasping, his hips jerking into the air. Even as his eyes darted around in the darkness in confusion, his body writhed, rubbing against the blanket in mindless desperation for friction.

The dream held him tightly still, the reality of it still convincing, after all he was in a bed and his cock was most certainly hard, and the need that gripped his body was oh so very real. But he was alone now. _That_ hadn't happened. Had it?

The pleasure of the dream stained with panic as he realized _he was not alone in the room._ Shame and alarm shocked him into stillness even as it sent a new jolt of excitement through him. Fenris was here. Asleep, just on the other side of the tent they shared.

_Oh shit, ohshitohshit._ Vulgarities he would not speak flooded his mind. Had he woken him? His movement, his wild breathing, _Maker-please-forbid_ his moans of pleasure? Could he have woken to all of that, and heard his own name cried out by a priest in the throes of an obscene dream?

He listened with all his strength to the sound of breathing, which eventually reassured him that the elf had not wakened. 

Sebastian breathed a long sigh of relief. 

He could control his behavior, remain celebate, refrain from self-abuse, try to banish the very thought of his own physical needs... but he could not control his dreams. His vivid, inventive, very very sexual dreams.

Perhaps that was a mistake. If he were taking care of those needs on a regular basis, he wouldn't be in this highly uncomfortable situation. Lying here with the fear of discovery shivering in his gut, and still his cock remained hard, his blood pounded, and every bit of him ached, all for the man lying a few feet away. 

Torture. Pure torture.

_Fenris had come to him. Spoke to him in that low murmur that made his knees quiver, and made filthy, wonderful promises. Ran his hands over and over his quivering flesh under the blankets until, in the dream, he had pleaded for the touch of skin upon skin. Anywhere. For the love of mercy. And the elf reached under the blankets and touched his stomach, slowly trailed his fingertips across it, and Sebastian had moaned. Begged him shamelessly for more. Begged him until Fenris climbed on top of him and pinned him down and made him confess every sordid fantasy he had ever had, his erection straining untouched into the heat between them. In a fever he renounced his vows, renounced everything he that he was and gave it all to him, to Fenris, forever. He had been naked under the blanket, trembling with anticipation and need, and Fenris pulled it off him and bared everything to the air and suddenly his lyrium brands blazed like the full moon in the black sky and Sebastian swore that if he would not take him soon he would die of it. And he had opened his beautiful mouth and descended on him and swallowed the world until there was nothing left but fire and heat and pleasure_

Until he awoke thrusting into his bedroll like a teenager and then cowering in silence, red-faced and aching. The breathing of the man beside him driving him mad. The little sighs he would make in his sleep that Sebastian wanted to breathe into his own lungs. The presence, the physical substance of him, the _smell_ of him. If only he had finished himself in his sleep and gotten some guiltless relief. Pure proximity might finish him off now, he could come just looking at the shape of him without the aid of his sinful hands.

Or he could do as his body demanded and cross the few feet of distance between them, slake his lust upon the man he craved. The man lying vulnerable beside him. And willing, perhaps even eager, if subtle flirtation had been any indication. It would be so easy. And he could swear in all his life he had never wanted anything more.

He would not give in. Of the two sins, he would better indulge the lesser. Not to offend his one true friend, and not to break his vow to keep his flesh pure for Andraste. 

He rose up quickly and slipped out of the tent, stumbled away, past the other sleeping companions, as far into the rocky terrain as he could stand to be sure he would be out of sight. 

He knelt on the ground and fumbled with his trousers, in a flash realizing that any wandering bandits or hungry animals could find him at any moment now away from the safety of the fire. He could hardly care about that now. His flesh was burning. He pulled out his erection with both hands and held it, falling back onto his heels and beginning to stroke. His head fell back and his mouth opened, and he allowed a low moan to escape.

He worked quickly. His goal was relief, not pleasure. Blessed, blessed relief. One hand worked the shaft and the other cupped his balls and he looked up into the stars until they smeared in the sky.

_White brands glowing on olive skin. Green eyes. Those snarling lips pulling back, opening his mouth to swallow him whole._

_Fenris!_

The orgasm hit him like a blow and he came thrusting into his own hands, on his knees in the dirt. It went on and on, his release coursing through him and out onto the ground. All of the tension of his body suddenly drained. He finished shuddering, deflated. His head came down onto his chest and he could breathe freely at last.

He stayed there on his knees awhile after that, to pray for forgiveness.


End file.
